


I lost my fear of falling.

by Redbullpixie



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Injury, Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Recovery, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-13 08:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9114406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redbullpixie/pseuds/Redbullpixie
Summary: Yuuri knew, from the moment it started, that it couldn’t last. This, whatever it was, he had with Viktor, had an expiration date, and when it came to matters of happiness and aspiration, the higher one flies, the harder they fall. He just wished that his luck could have held out a bit longer. Just one more moment with Viktor; one more night of quiet conversation in the dim of their shared hotel room, one more meal between them where Viktor would surprise him with his casual, intimate touches, just one more moment. Something to squirrel away in the recesses of his mind. Something to take out and turn over and over when the world without this kind, talented, otherworldly man became too much to bear.After enduring a serious injury at the Rostelecom Cup, Yuuri becomes his own worst enemy.





	1. The Incident

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've ever gotten past the 500 words mark, so I've felt the need to publish it. It will be an ongoing story, so I'll try my best not to flake out on completing it! I've already finished the second chapter and the third is in progress. Rated E for later chapters.
> 
> Please let me know if you like it! The more interest this piece receives, the faster I'll be publishing chapters :)

Yuuri knew, from the moment it started, that it couldn’t last. This, whatever it was, he had with Viktor, had an expiration date, and when it came to matters of happiness and aspiration, the higher one flies, the harder they fall. He just wished that his luck could have held out a bit longer. Just one more moment with Viktor; one more night of quiet conversation in the dim of their shared hotel room, one more meal between them where Viktor would surprise him with his casual, intimate touches, just one more moment. Something to squirrel away in the recesses of his mind. Something to take out and turn over and over when the world without this kind, talented, otherworldly man became too much to bear.

 The pivotal moment happened so quickly that Yuuri didn’t have any time to dwell on these misgivings. The only things he had time to process were the increasing pressure of his skate hitting the ice, the pain of gravity pulling his bodyweight to the ground, heedless of the fact his ankle and skate came between the two, a nauseating snap, and a glimpse of Viktor’s shocked expression from the barrier. 

Then everything went black. The next thing Yuuri was aware of was hands gripping the sides of his face, and a pressure against his skull. A harsh, familiar voice was barking orders in Russian. His program music cut off.

“Yuuri, can you hear me?” Yurio.  He sounded out of breath, as if asking the question took all of his effort. Yuuri gave a weak nod in response. His head felt like it weighed far more than could be normal. “Yuuri, can you open your eyes?” He tried. Much like his skull, his eyelids seemed impossibly heavy. He managed to open them just a crack. His eyelids felt wet and tacky. Had he been crying? He found Yurio’s face and, as their eyes met, the young boy slumped with relief letting out a sigh. “Yuuri, hey, keep your eyes open, keep looking at me, okay? People are coming to help you.” 

 Suddenly Yurio’s grounding words were lost in a sea of other faces, all hurriedly speaking in unfamiliar syllables. They were poking and prodding him, touching him with cold hands and distant words he couldn’t understand. Yuuri was so tired. His eyelids felt heavy. He would just close them for a second. His respite was brief, interrupted by white hot pain in his lower left leg and a deafening scream. 

The pressure on his leg quickly disappeared. He was gasping uselessly, he couldn’t seem to get enough air into his lungs. What happened to all the air? He opened his eyes again, searching through the faces, looking for someone he recognized. He didn’t like this. Everything felt wrong. The frigid ice against his back, the wetness covering his face and hair, all the unfamiliar people floating above him. His eyes landed, again, on Yurio. He looked near to tears, his mouth pressed into a thin line, brows pulled together making little lines between his dewy green eyes. When their eyes met, Yuuri knew he had his complete attention.

He pushed what little air he could manage through his throat, “Vik...Vity- ” He managed weakly. Understanding dawned on Yurio’s face. He disappeared for only a moment before gliding back into view, towing a distraught looking Viktor across the ice in his expensive shoes. The other faces began to leave his field of vision, growing blurry as they grew further and further away.

Viktor’s features became more defined as his face neared Yuuri’s. He looked stunning, even with his emotions contorting his face in all sorts of unattractive ways. “Vit...ya,” the endearment rolled off Yuuri’s tongue with surprising ease, given the effort it took him to speak. He was going to miss this. This easy affection they shared even at the bleakest moments.

“Oh, Yuuri,” Viktor whispered, just loud enough for him to make out. He fretted over Yuuri, running an ungloved hand over the wetness on his face and hair, in an attempt to both comfort Yuuri and clean off his face a bit, before pressing his palm to the side of his face. “They’ve sent for an ambulance, you need to be taken to the hospital so they can assess the severity of your injuries. Everything is going to be okay.”

A small part at the back of Yuuri’s mind, the part that wasn’t actively working to keep his eyes open and processing the words being said to him, tripped over that last word. Injuries. Plural. A vague sense of awareness came over him as the word swirled in his head. Behind Viktor he could see Yurio standing, leaning over him, still in his short program costume, but something was off. His delicate hands and the cuffs of his glittering silver sleeves were stained red.

Yuuri felt nauseous.

He became aware of the diligent press of gauze against his skull. How could he have missed that? How could this have happened? He could be put out of commission for the grand prix. He could be out of commission for the rest of the season, or the rest of his career. He could lose Viktor. He was suddenly trying to catch his breath again, and  _ why wasn’t there enough air in this damn room? _ Something must have shown on his face, because Viktor began stroking his cheek with his thumb, and pinned him with a determined stare. “Yuuri, look at me, you’re going to be fine.”

Viktor’s tone left no room for argument.

Yuuri was desperate to believe him.

He remembers the trip to the hospital in bits and pieces. He remembers the pain of having his leg splinted before being transferred to the stretcher. He remembers a few faces as he was wheeled past, other skaters shocked, concerned, but most staying out of the way. He remembers being asked questions in russian by an EMT before Viktor intercepted, and answered them to the best of his ability.

It grew even harder for Yuuri to keep his eyes open, his initial adrenaline ebbing and giving way to a marrow deep exhaustion. Yuuri drifted to sleep to the rumble of the ambulance, Viktor keeping vigil.


	2. Painful, Agonizing Failure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have posted sooner, but I wasn't happy with the original second chapter I wrote. It needed something to happen before it, so I made it the third chapter and wrote this! 
> 
> I worked to make sure this chapter was a little longer than the last as well. My original goal was to make each chapter 1,000 words, but that's beginning to seem a bit short for a chapter.
> 
> Bonus points if you can tell me what movie I pulled this chapter title from!!! :)

_This couldn’t be happening._

Of all of the things Viktor had expected as a coach, this was not a possibility he had taken into consideration. In theory he knew how to handle an athlete with an injury; follow medical guidance, be patient and encouraging, don’t let them push themselves too hard. He had seen Yakov do it with a number of skaters in his care, and they had taken back to the ice just fine.

This was different. Yuuri was more than just his student. Yuuri was _special_. He meant something to Viktor; maybe everything. Yuuri had a hold on him; the depths of which he could never have conceived, but that he had begun to unravel. He couldn’t treat Yuuri with the same friendly distance that Yakov did with his students. He wasn’t … paternal with him. He would be anything his sweet little Katsudon needed of him, but so far only one role seemed to stick. If he concentrated hard enough he could still feel Yuuri’s body under his on the ice at the Cup of China.

Their romantic entanglement was the last thing on Viktor’s mind as he watched Yuuri fall to the ice. _This couldn’t be happening._ The man who had given his life new meaning over the past months was motionless on the rink before him, aside from the heaving of his chest, and oh, _thank god_ he was still breathing.

Viktor’s hands kept their white knuckle grip on the barrier. He needed to go to him. He needed his legs to move him toward his Yuuri. He had to be closer to him. He had to hold him in his arms or he might pass out, but, more importantly, Yuuri _needed_ him. _He couldn’t move_.

He felt like he was watching this horror show through a thick layer of cotton wool. It was as if his body were encasing him in a protective barrier, increasing the distance between him and the terrible reality playing out before his eyes. His mind was a quiet panic and emotion didn’t seem to touch him in this liminal space. It was comforting, but frightening. The more distance his mind put between him and reality, the less absolute the events seemed. His brain was pushing him into a blissful denial. It also put him further and further away from Yuuri, a that Yuuri _needed_ him.

He couldn’t just drift off into nothingness, he had to help Yuuri (and _Jesus_ he had no idea how he could possibly help in this situation, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try). He fought against the fog that threatened to consume him. He had to get to Yuuri. He had to _be_ there for Yuuri.

 _This couldn’t be happening._ Not to his Yuuri, who had worked so hard to get here, who deserved nothing less than gold, than every gold medal Viktor had ever won and more.  Yuuri’s scream pierced through the haze he was swimming in. He had failed him.

“Viktor.” he turned his head toward the grip on his wrist, mooring him to the present moment. He was shocked by how bloody the hand pulling his from the barrier was. The voice then spoke to him in cautious russian reminding him of what had been running through his head “Yuuri needs you.”

Viktor’s eyes drifted from Yurio’s bloody hand to his face. For once, Yurio looked hesitant, like one wrong move would shatter the man in front of him. The thought wasn’t off base. Viktor nodded dumbly. He allowed the blonde boy to guide him onto the ice, his armani brogues forcing him to incompetently shuffle along as he was dragged toward the cluster of standy by medics. Never again would he scold Yurio’s tendency to reckless jetting across the ice; the faster he got to his Yuuri, the better.

As the two approached, the attending medical staff took notice and seemed to deem what examination they had done sufficient. They began to disperse, and Viktor knelt next to Yuuri. There was so much blood. It covered the left side of his scalp and had seeped into the hollow over his eye. Yuuri’s brows pulled together with the effort it took to concentrate on Viktor’s face. Despite everything, he smiled.

“Vit...ya.”

Viktor’s chest felt tight. What did he ever do to deserve this man? This beautiful, battered, _stupid_ man who was staring up at him from a pool of his own blood and _smiling_. His throat constricted, his words barely coming out, “Oh, Yuuri.”

 

~

 

Viktor danced around Yuuri when various qualified individuals took over handling Yuuri onto a stretcher, then into an ambulance. Yuuri was in and out of consciousness several times during the process. When he stirred, his eyes would flit around the room until they settled on Viktor. His presence seemed to mollify him, and it wasn’t long until the injured skater was snoozing softly each time. The sight left a pleasant warmth in Viktor’s chest. If he could do nothing else, he could help in this way.

He stayed by Yuuri’s side as long as he could, but once they reached the emergency room he was forced to entrust him to the doctors and nurses at the hospital. He had to fill out the paperwork for his admittance (basic information like his name, age, sex, but also his medical history, which Viktor could only fill in parts of). His mind took to the task readily, content to have some kind of distraction, but as soon as he had filled it out to the best of his knowledge and returned the clipboard to the admitting nurse, the dam broke.

His distance from the situation closed in a matter of seconds, leaving a fire in his gut that warmed his face and left his chest heaving, body wracking with uncontrollable sobs. He had a sudden difficulty standing, and he was blinded by the mist in his eyes. He collapsed into an drab waiting room chair, cradling his face in his hands as he rode out his body’s involuntary reaction.

Images kept lingering in his mind of what had just transpired; Yuuri mid-jump and then mid-fall, Yurio’s bloody hand and stained sleeves guiding him across the ice, Yuuri smiling up at him with a face painted in his own blood, Yuuri’s scream of pain. He persisted on them, worrying away at them to make them seem less vivid, less terrifying.

It did nothing to staunch his guilt. This shouldn’t have happened. Viktor had known his leg had been bothering him, but he hadn’t pushed the subject when Yuuri insisted he was fine. Evidently, he wasn’t fine. Viktor should have pushed him to see a doctor. He shouldn’t have let him skate, but the pressure for gold was on. The Rostelecom was the last qualifying cup; to pull out here would mean pulling out of the Grand Prix altogether. He couldn’t take that opportunity away from Yuuri, not when they had come this far together. He wanted Yuuri to win as much as Yuuri himself did, if not more. Yuuri was talented, diligent, and headstrong enough to win. Yuuri _deserved_ to win.

Now he couldn’t. Yuuri couldn’t take the gold this year, and Viktor was man enough to take responsibility for it. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes again.

Viktor wiped his face on his sleeve. It came away wet from tears and tinged red from the blood on his hands and face. Shit, he must look a mess. He found the nearest men’s room and did his best to clean himself up. He took in his reflection above the crumbling porcelain sink. There was nothing to be done about the stains on his sleeves and collar, but at least his face was dry and his hands were no longer daubed in blood. He stared into the weary bloodshot eyes of his countenance.

He wouldn’t fail Yuuri again.


	3. Agape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promise the story will start moving a bit faster in the next chapter. I'll try not to go too Dickens on you in that regard!
> 
> Your comments are the sweet ambrosia of my existence.  
> Please comment or drop me an ask on Tumblr!

Viktor sat with Yurio in the waiting room of the ER. They were waiting to hear back about Yuuri’s condition. He would, most likely, be transferred to a private room after his initial treatment; stitches, a brace or cast on his leg. They wouldn’t know anything for sure until they heard back from a doctor.

He was just barely surprised that Yurio had come. As much as the young skater tried to hide it, Viktor could tell he harbored a certain affection for Yuuri. Still, it was interesting to see how he acted when that tenuous bond was tested. The second Yurio received his scores at the kiss and cry he was throwing off his skates and hounding Yakov for information on where Yuuri had been taken (as well as money for a cab). Thank god Viktor had left with the ambulance or he would never have let him live that down.

He didn’t know how he had made it through his short program. He felt like his heart was going to pound out of his chest, everything was too hot and all he could think about was Yuuri. Seeing the other skater’s leg snap had awoken a fear in him that he hadn’t felt since he’d first stepped out onto the ice. There was an unpredictability out there that one tended to forget about after years of training and competing. All it took was one bump in the ice, one misplaced blade, one botched landing, and your career (or your chance at continuing life with a functioning fucking body) was over. Somehow those fears were floating somewhere on the backburner of Yurio’s mind. At the forefront was a deep concern, one that he was trying desperately to hide. He was crawling out of his skin. He needed to know if Yuuri was okay. He had seen the way his skull collided with the ice, a halo of red quickly forming beneath him.

When he had reached him, Yuuri was miles away. His eyes were shut tightly when he approached. Yurio knelt beside him, startled at how the blood continued to seep from the side of Yuuri’s head. How much blood could a person _lose_ ? Surely this wasn’t a lethal injury, surely he wasn’t watching Yuuri bleed out before his eyes. _FUCK,_ he didn’t have time to panic like this! _Where the fuck were the standby medics!?_ He looked back at the barrier to see them hobbling onto the ice in sneakers. _These fucking idiots_ . “HOW LONG IS IT GOING TO TAKE FOR YOU TO DO YOUR _FUCKING JOB!?_ ” He screamed back at them in russian. That would make headlines, but, in that moment, Yurio couldn’t have cared less. He was pressing his hands to Yuuri’s head in a futile effort to staunch the flow of blood, and _his program music was still playing!?_ He sent a murderous look up to the technicians in the booth, “CUT THE _FUCKING TRACK_!” Every second that music kept playing Yurio’s rage doubled. When it finally cut, Yurio looked back down at Yuuri, “Yuuri, can you hear me?” He gave what might be considered a nod. It was something. He leaned closer “Yuuri, can you open your eyes?” They opened enough for Yuuri’s eyes to find his. His rage dissipated.

When they had finally gotten the injured skater off the ice Yurio had to wait behind the barrier as the venue cobbled together a maintenance team that was trained to deal with biohazards and potential bloodborne pathogens. It took them a while to clean all the blood off the ice. Many spectators had excused themselves from the rink shortly after the shock of Yuuri’s fall.

Yurio was a mess. The fluffy accents of his sleeves were matted with blood. If it hadn’t been for Yakov, he would have taken to the ice with his hands still crusted with Yuuri’s blood. He was out of it. As it was, he still heard plenty of gasps from the crowd when he glided to center ice sporting scarlet rings around his cuffs. His costume was past saving. He couldn’t focus on agape like this. All he cared about was going to sate this irrational need he had to be close to Yuuri. Viktor was with him, he was in good hands, but he needed to see it with his own two eyes. He would just have to skate what he was feeling and hope something stuck. He had never been more exposed on the ice. It felt so wrong to be skating this in front of all of these people; his distress, his concern. He didn’t want people to see him like this, and over the incident (the very public incident) that had just occurred. It would take only hours for news outlets to capitalize on it. Reporting, but also speculating about Yuuri’s condition and fabricating slanderous rumors. The public would eat it up.

“Yurio,” he felt a hand slip onto his shoulder, “Something on your mind?”

“What kind of stupid question is that?” Yurio looked up at his former rinkmate, giving him a weak scowl. His answering expression was unreadable. Viktor had always been good at concealing his negative emotions. His poker face had only added to his reputation as a formidable contender on the ice. Even so, something in his eyes told Yurio that he wasn’t as composed as he wanted him to think. Viktor must have expected his petulant response because his lips pulled into a smile, small but amused.

“A relevant one. Why else would you be here?” Viktor didn’t receive a response. He’d have to go about this in a more indirect way, then. “How well did you perform your short program?” That seemed to catch Yurio off-guard, it took a moment for him to answer.

“I don’t understand,” He rested his face in his hands and spoke to the tile,  “I flubbed some of my jumps, it was just so hard to concentrate on the technical elements after... but I still got a good score. I nailed the presentation. That’s not like me at all.” Yurio was, of course, right. It was why it took him so long to find agape in the first place; he didn’t like expressing his emotions on the ice. He could perform, sure, but he was no method actor. He had gotten as far as he had on his technical skill as a skater.

“What did you feel when you skated? What were you thinking about?” This made the younger skater pause. His light brows knit together, framing up an answer. He looked Viktor in the eyes, moss meeting sky blue. He answered simply.

“Yuuri.”

The two sat in silence, fatigued and dishevelled. They must have looked quite the pair; both sporting stained clothes and bruised spirits.

Yurio knew: Viktor understood.


	4. Admittance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH! It's been so long guys! In my defense this chapter wound up being about twice the length of my usual chapters. I promise you'll know more about Yuuri's injuries in the next chapter. Spring semester is also starting up, so I'm writing up deadlines for myself, and hopefully I'll be posting a chapter per week.
> 
> PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE comment and tell me what you think! It keeps me going guys!

After the rush of adrenaline and the disorientation of shock wore off, Yuuri was in a world of pain. His head hurt. His leg felt like it had jagged shards of glass inside of it, rattling around like specks in a snowglobe. His  _ eyes _ hurt. How the hell did his eyes hurt?

Luckily, this pain was accompanied by intermissions of blissful unconsciousness. Each time he awoke startled him. He had a vague idea of the how and the where of his situation, but was fuzzy on the details. It was difficult to keep his eyes open, for when he raised his lids, the world he took in seemed to be turned up to one hundred. Everything looked intense; glowing and bright, oh  _ so bright _ , and  _ ow _ he remembered why his eyes hurt now.

Despite his vague awareness of his condition, Yuuri still felt a tugging under his sternum, and the flare of anxiety he was well acquainted with. He couldn’t recognize anything around him, and the faces that drifted in and out of his field of vision didn’t belong to anyone he knew. Yuuri was spiraling through a tunnel of color and light. His world blurred around him with the speed, tying his mind into knots in the space between his brows.  _ Make it stop. _ He knew he was badly hurt, but he couldn’t moor himself to reality enough to ensure he was safe.

_ This must be what a trapped animal feels like _ , Yuuri thought (or he would have if his mind were capable of forming coherent sentences). Just before his panic reached it’s peak, he would find them.

Two points of light that seemed to glow in a way that didn’t overwhelm him like his bright surroundings did. Beautiful dewy blue eyes acted as a beacon, a lighthouse to guide him home amidst the storm raging in his body.

_ Viktor _ .

It wasn’t long before Yuuri felt the saccharine sweet call of prescription sedation pulling him under.

He let it. Viktor would take care of him.

 

~

 

“Yuuri Katsuki?” the words coming from the man’s mouth carried a heavy accent, his mouth not accustomed to uttering the foreign syllables. 

This man had Viktor’s full attention. He made his way over to him with a few swift steps. “Yes, I’m his coach.”

“Coach? You’re not family?” The man in the labcoat took off his readers with an air of doubt; he’d dealt with rule benders before. His gruff tone implied this would be an issue.

As ever, Viktor kept his poker face. With an icy stare, he replied, “No, he’s an athlete, here for a competition. I’m his coach, can I please see him?” The man continued to look on him with squinty-eyed skepticism, sizing him up.

Viktor couldn’t explain that he  _ needed _ to see Yuuri; that he was more than his coach, more than his friend, or that the his insides thrashed at the possibility of being kept from the battered man he was supposed to be looking out for. He couldn’t. He doubted that would help him, given their locale and the man’s already reluctant demeanor.

It wasn’t that Viktor didn’t want people to know the changing nature of their relationship, -on the contrary, Viktor wanted  _ everyone _ to know (and if the sudden spike in Phichit’s instagram popularity was anything to go by, he was succeeding) - he just couldn’t do it here. If Viktor had learned anything from growing up in Russia, it was that there were people (many people) who didn’t take kindly to  _ his type _ . While the figure skating community was much more open, that didn’t save Viktor from the skinned knees and shiners he had received from “disagreements” in his early youth. They were safer here in the city, but changing legislation made it hard to call anywhere safe.

If it were any other day, Viktor knew how to handle the violent, backward people his country sometimes threw at him. Today, he was not about to make a bad situation worse. He wasn’t about to put Yuuri in danger like that.

The curt man replied, “Call his family. I will deal with them.”

“He’s from Japan.”

“So?”

_ So? _ “So, his family is in  _ Japan _ .”

The man took in this information the way the average person would take in news that the price of stamps had risen. He shrugged, “Then, I’m sure you can find a way to contact them.”

Viktor was a patient man. This stranger didn’t seem to realize how much of that patience he had used up. He remained still, his face void. His tone was even, rational. His frustration bled through in his eyes, and in every precise syllable that rolled off his tongue as he spoke, “They are thousands of miles away from here, and they barely speak english, let alone  _ Russian _ . Now, this can end one of two ways: Either you let me see him, or you explain to his distraught parents why you made them fly all the way out here and let their injured child wake up in a foreign hospital,  _ alone _ .”

 

~

 

Yuuri woke slowly, peeking through the curtain of sedation just enough to feel the ache in his body before yanking it closed again, burrowing into sleep like a warm bed on a rainy day. He was perfectly happy to remain blissfully unaware of the injuries he’d sustained, but all good things must come to an end. It became harder and harder for Yuuri to cling to the slippery tethers of sleep. He let go, surfacing.

Ow. Even behind Yuuri’s closed lids, the sensory input of consciousness was intense. He tried opening his eyes, and the well lit room did nothing to help the ache between his brows. After much effort, Yuuri’s gaze swivelled around the room, taking inventory. He was in a room colored in dated, commercial pastels. The spartan furnishings of the room and the whirring of machinery beside him told him all he needed to know; he was in a hospital room.

There was a whiteboard on the far wall, Yuuri squinted trying to make out whatever was written on it. It didn’t do him a whole lot of good; it was difficult to read without his glasses on, nigh impossible when the language was one he was far from well versed in. Through some effort, he was able to see his name phonetically spelled out in the cyrillic script.

Yuuri was taken back to the Inn in Hasetsu, sitting on the cushions next to Viktor, a paper between them on the table. The russian’s milky white hands dragged the pen effortless across the paper, his fingers flexing to form odd looking symbols on the page with the same ease Yuuri would write hiragana or even english. Viktor explained how each character was pronounced; how some were pronounced the same way their english counterparts were, while others were deceiving, and some didn’t appear to belong to any alphabet Yuuri had seen before.

_ Viktor. _ Yuuri was in the hospital, he knew that much. He performed a quick mental rewind, trying to see where he had lost track of him. He doesn’t remember being in the ambulance per se, but he knew he had to have gotten here somehow, and he remembered feeling the other man’s presence. His eyes, like a warm blue flame had kept him company through the chaos and the dark that had followed. Where was Viktor?

Yuuri took a calming breath as he looked around the room once more. The two chairs by the window were empty, as was the one at Yuuri’s bedside. He had to be around here somewhere. Right? He couldn’t have left him here, at the very least he had an obligation as his coach to see him through until his prognosis was clear. Yuuri could handle whatever happened after that. He might not be prepared for it, but he would handle it, if only because he had no other choice. It would hurt, he knew. The way he had entangled himself with Victor wasn’t something he could extricate himself from; he was part of Yuuri now. Their bond would have to be severed, sliced to the quick and allowed to bleed, scab, and scar. Balance of probability pointed him in a grim direction, but he had known days like the ones he shared with Viktor could only last so long. He had enjoyed the ride.

Yuuri heard muffled scuffling and the click of a hefty metal handle. Then, there he was.

“Yuuri! You’re awake!” Viktor didn’t chirp with his normal optimism, instead he stood, feet pinned to the spot, and looked at him with wide eyes and furrowed brows. Despite Yuuri’s dour thoughts, he couldn’t help feeling calmer with Viktor’s presence. The man exuded a pheromone that never ceased to quiet Yuuri’s restless thoughts. That was the only explanation he could form for the unreasonable way his body reacted to Viktor’s proximity.

Viktor’s face softened. He sat down in a chair next to him, reaching for his hand on the bed. Yuuri stared at his hand in Viktor’s. His own skin was so pale, they almost matched. He must have lost a lot of blood. “Hey,” he squeezed his hand. Brown met blue, “The doctor is going to come in soon and explain everything that’s going to happen next. Okay?” Viktor’s tone was just as soft as his expression. He spoke to Yuuri like he was a spooked horse; something volatile, potentially dangerous, but that carried an emotional intelligence that could be reached. Yuuri nodded. Viktor sighed and gave him a fragile smile, placing his free hand on his right thigh, he rubbed in soothing circles.

Yuuri became very aware of the lower fourth of his body that existed down the bed, beyond Viktor’s hand. The blanket on the left side of his bed rucked up, exposing his leg from the knee down. From his angle, Yuuri couldn’t see much beyond it, but he did manage to catch a glint of what appeared to be the tips of shiny silver rods. Viktor had followed his gaze, but now looked nowhere but the younger man’s face. Yuuri continued to bore past him, his gaze unfocused, pointing in the direction of the halo of metal spears radiating from what had to be his left leg.

This was real.

The theory was much easier to process than the bodily experience. He dared not move his leg, for fear of what sensations might follow. His head felt heavy.

Yuuri sucked in a gasp and blinked, blowing his breath out in a slow stream. Warm fingers curled around his chin. He followed the movement, gaze meeting the man opposite him.

Viktor looked on him with a strained expression. His mouth quirked into a wobbly smile, just barely there. His voice sounded thick, like his throat was full of molasses “Yuuri, everything’s going to be okay.” His warm hands caressed his jaw and slipped along his scalp, carding into his hair where he could reach it around the bandages. The silver haired man leaned over Yuuri, pulling his head to rest against his chest. His arm snaked around his shoulders, the other staying in his mussed hair, and he was just so  _ warm _ . Yuuri leaned into his chest, revelling in the feeling of Viktor’s warm flesh seeping through the ruined fabric of his once crisp shirt.

Yuuri was tired after his brief stint of consciousness; so very very tired. He closed his eyes and let Viktor hold him, basking in his comforting heat. If Viktor pressed his face into the younger man’s hair, if his lips lingered a bit too long, Yuuri wouldn’t notice. He wouldn’t remember the reverent way Viktor held him, or the soft sob that escaped.

This was about Yuuri. The last thing he needed was Viktor getting in the way. It was better this way.


	5. Prognosis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACKKKKK.  
> Update took way longer than it should have. I'd been avoiding finishing it this chapter, but here it is! Working on the next one as we speak! :)  
> I did a lot of research to make this as accurate as possible medically. Like, I saw a lot of gross mangled legs Ya'll. I am by no means a doctor, but I tried.
> 
> Please please please please leave a comment here or drop me an ask on my tumblr (link in the end notes) to tell me what you thought! Seriously. I cherish every one of your comments! Let me hoard them like a dragon with golden treasure.  
> Thanks again everyone!!!

Holding the sleeping man in his arms made it easier for him to think. Viktor had had much time to think while waiting for Yuuri to be treated, but, with the warm press of the smaller man to his chest, the foreboding thoughts were blown away, like a thick layer of dust on an old hardback. He was no longer plagued with worst case scenarios tearing through his mind. He could rationally think through what his next move should be.

One thing was clear: he couldn’t continue to burden Yuuri with his own desires, not when Yuuri needed to focus on recovering. He would give Yuuri whatever support he needed, but he would let the other man set the terms. Viktor didn’t want to overwhelm him, or intrude on whatever emotional space he might need. He held the sleeping man in his arms a little tighter. Viktor knew he was an unusually tactile person. Judging by the way Yuuri had handled his behavior upon his arrival in Hasetsu, the younger man found such overtures to be stressful. Ordinarily, Viktor would find the way Yuuri stumbled and blushed to be _adorable_. He loved to push his buttons to see what kind of a reaction he could get out of the sweet faced man. Under the given circumstances, Viktor would have to reign in his more amorous urges, at least until he knew Yuuri was ready.

He had to be considerate of the younger man’s well being. It would do neither of them any good if Yuuri became emotionally compromised during his recovery. It would only serve to make things more difficult for him. This is what was best for Yuuri.

The days to come would be suffocating.

 

~

 

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Viktor’s serious expression gave Yuuri pause. Was he ready? His current predicament was something not even his anxiety ridden nightmares could have dreamt up. He didn’t think he could ever be prepared for a situation like this.

“Yeah. I’m about as ready as I’m going to get.” He answered the question with a defeated sigh, but his reply was steadfast enough. The side of Viktor’s lip quirked in a small smile.

“I’ll go get them.” As he rose from his chair, as he headed toward the door on the far side of the room, Yuuri kept his eyes on him. If he concentrated he could make out something like concern through the man’s cool exterior. Even the way he held himself carried a fragility that wasn’t Viktor-like at all. He was still every bit the cocksure champion the world was accustomed to seeing, but this version was cast in delicate plaster, the tension the man carried causing widening fissures. Yuuri could see the cracks. Were they his fault?

Yuuri was just coming to terms with the possibility of this injury being the end of his skating career. In the little (excruciating) time he had spent thinking about that path, he had imagined Viktor moving on; coaching other skaters, or returning to the ice himself. He hoped Viktor didn’t think his injury was his fault. Yuuri was the one who was ignorant enough to believe the pain in his leg was just shin splints, if anyone was to blame it certainly wasn’t Viktor.

There was no way the skater was going to let his coach get hung up on his own mistake. He couldn’t be the one that ruined the ice for _Viktor Nikiforov_ ; not because of what the skating world at large would think of him, but because he couldn’t live with himself if he wrecked what they had shared. Viktor’s skating had inspired him, had gotten him through times where he felt purposeless and vacant. He had come along and filled all those empty spaces in Yuuri’s life like it was the easiest thing in the world, like he was made to fit into every negative space Yuuri’s silhouette formed. He couldn’t let that be tainted. He couldn’t be the one who forced Viktor out of skating.

 

~

 

“It’s called a ‘comminuted fracture’,” the thin slavic woman explained in heavily accented english, “The bone has broken into several pieces which is why we have placed you with an external fixator. These pins will keep the bone in place while it heals. It also offers us more control, and easier adjustment, if something moves out of place. It will take a while for your bone to fuse back together. The number of pieces it broke into suggests past trauma. Have you injured this leg before?”

Yuuri knew this question would come, he just _knew_ it. He looked at the sheets as he responded, “I’ve never broken anything before but…” he didn’t want to say it. It was embarrassing to have to say it. “My leg was bothering me before this happened. I thought it was just shin splints, but my leg was achey _after_ running too.” He shook his head and huffed at himself.

When Yuuri looked back up he was surprised at the open expression on the thin woman’s face. She nodded and knit her brows together, pursed her lips. “Sounds like you had a stress fracture that gave out.”

Yuuri gave a few small nods, signaling his understanding but reluctant to give further input. Fixing his gaze back to where his hands were fiddling with the sheet, he heard the man next to him ease the conversation along “What will the recovery process for Yuuri be?,”

The woman’s gaze flicked back between Yuuri and Viktor. Deeming Yuuri to still be indisposed, she directed her answer to Viktor. “Our main concern for these next few weeks will be keeping his leg immobile, so that the bone has the best chance of forming a strong bond as it grows back together. After that we’ll concern ourselves with physical therapy and recovering any muscle loss. We want a smooth recovery, no re-injury, no surgery.”

“Will I be able to skate again?” The other two figures in the room turned their gaze to the subject of their conversation. Yuuri felt like he was ten years old again after asking his parents a well meaning question. The looks he received said ‘I care about you, which is why I don’t want to answer this’.

“Yuuri,” It was the first time the woman had addressed him by name. If she was serious before, she was now austere, “Injuries like the one you have are complex. They are not difficult to treat, but they are unpredictable. That being said, I will do everything in my power to ensure that you make a full recovery.”

Yuuri’s grip on the sheets loosened. He smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought by leaving a comment!
> 
> My Tumblr, if anyone is interested! [Casehusbands](http://casehusbands.tumblr.com/)


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